“Knock the dents out of your hat and put your necktie in front, so you won’t disgrace me going through the streets,” I ordered after I had run a hand over his clothes and found nothing that felt like a weapon. “You can suit yourself about remembering that this gat is going to be in my overcoat pocket, with a hand on it.”

He straightened his hat and tie and said:

“Hey, listen: I’m in this, I guess, and cutting up won’t get me nothing. Suppose I be good. Could you forget about the tussle? See⁠—maybe it’d be smoother for me if they thought I come along without being dragged.”

“OK.”

“Thanks, brother.”

Noonan was out eating. We had to wait half an hour in his outer office. When he came in he greeted me with the usual “How are you?⁠ ⁠… That certainly is fine⁠ ⁠…” and the rest of it. He didn’t say anything to MacSwain⁠—simply eyed him sourly.